


While You're Waiting

by LelithSugar



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BDSM, Casual Use, Consensual Kink, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, If you think this has a happy ending... you're right well done you, M/M, Master/Servant, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Ramsay is his own warning, Roleplay, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:55:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9957344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LelithSugar/pseuds/LelithSugar
Summary: Ramsay's got his own form of entertainment on hand for when impotant political dinners drag on. Theon gets off on being used for Ramsay's pleasure... which is fortunate, because it's not like he was going to get any say in the matter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> If you've not read the rest of the collection, crib notes on the AU: spun off from the canon at the start of Season Three of the show, with Theon captured at the Dreadfort. But in this version, they’re in a happy, consensual BDSM-themed relationship, with the torture and abuse part asked for, part exaggerated as a cover up to allow them to live out their fantasies to their hearts’ content. Theon is (mostly) whole, with the whole cutting-bits-off thing simply the result of rumour gone wild, and the more of that kind of notoriety that gets spread around, the safer they are.
> 
> This fic employs the Manderly rule: if you need to reference a house and it doesn't matter to the plot who, it's the Manderlys, much like American films sub '555' into phone numbers. For some reason this really amuses me. It was written at the behest of my gorgeous girl.

 

“ _RAISE THE GATES!_ ”

The cry from the watch towers filled Theon with sudden heat, with the flutter of wings low in his belly. It might not have been Ramsay they could see riding in, but the edge of panic in the order told him it was, and the evidence of that fear he instilled still impressed Theon every time. Nobody wanted to be the person who displeased him, who was too slow or got it wrong on the day he was in a bad mood... or a really good one. Commotion picked up outside in the courtyard and inside the kitchens where he was almost instantly and Theon was as much caught by the wave of nervous excitement as anyone: his master was home.

The returning party was overdue: Theon tried not to allow himself to worry but it had still been a comfort when a rider being fed in the kitchens had broadly hinted that the delay was due to Ramsay having an immediate need to do something horrible to somebody rather than anything having gone awry as far as the Bolton army were concerned. He could see it in his mind's eye: the banners snapping in the wind; Ramsay out in front, fearless, either crouched and riding full tilt for home or sitting tall with his shoulders back and a smile on his face, guiding his mount along an easy trot: it would depend largely on how the morning had gone or, more likely, how long it was since he'd last eaten.

Prior to the away mission, a short notice visit from Wyman Manderley, along with the family's entire host had occupied the majority of Ramsay's time and Theon had seen precious little of him for a few days, but 'Reek' had been kept plenty busy enough helping out in the kitchens – after a bloody good wash - to account for the extra mouths. Theon had somehow simultaneously been bored out of his mind and worked to exhaustion, but he liked when Ramsay was busy and important because it put him firmly in what he so enjoyed thinking of as his proper place: stripped of his own resposibilities, nobility and titles; a nameless servant; a nothing, other than chattel belonging to Ramsay. Being reduced to a posession that everybody knew the Dreadfort's heir did as he pleased with made Theon hot under the skin, and the way they'd all started shooting nervous glances at him now that they knew his owner was back only made it better.

Even though he knew it would be coming, the call to step away from whatever he was doing to go attend his lord made his stomach flip over. Amidst the bustle, he barely made it out of the doors to wait on the steps by the time the riders reached the gates and yes, of course, Ramsay was at the head, reigning his horse and the entirety of the following troops to an agitated halt as though he'd merely ridden in alone from a hunt. Their eyes met everso briefly before Theon forced his gaze to the floor and waited... amidst the clamour in the square he could pick out the individual sound of Ramsay's boots hitting the ground, the footsteps that grew louder without interruption despite the voices that called out to him, so it wasn't a surprise when they stopped in front of him and Theon froze solid when Ramsay grabbed hold of his grease-spattered but fresh linen tunic. Gods, it was cold out, without his deceptively well-layered rags but somehow he hadn't noticed until the feel of Ramsay's breath against his cheekbones was warmer than the sweat on his skin and he _would not_ look up.

In the sudden silence, Ramsay pulled Theon up so their chests were together, bent to his neck as if to kiss at his collar and inhaled deeply. Theon wasn't sure if he was trying to suss out where he'd been in his new clothes just from the smell of him - whether he had indeed been kept confinded to the kitchens in his absence as he'd ordered - or was just trying to breathe him in, but the sniffing was obvious from far enough away that some nearby feet scrambled over themselves in an effort to back off.

Ramsay released his grip and Theon fell backwards into the doorway, blinking suddenly at the horrified stares of a number of staff who should have known better than to gawp as Ramsay strode past him in the direction of his quarters, slapping his thigh and clicking his fingers by his side almost as an afterthought when Theon didn't immediately follow.

“Where have _you_ been?” Ramsay's tone was a blend of malice and amusement, accusatory as if he'd been the one waiting patiently whilst Theon galivanted about the countryside, deliberately raised for eavesdroppers as they ascended the stairs. He had unquestionably noticed not only the cleaner clothes but the freshly washed hair, the shallow cut across the heel of Theon's left hand – it was remarkably awkward to joint chickens with gloves on and two of your fingers taped against your palm, though he'd been thankful of the gloves when they took the worst of it – and wanted to know if his orders had been followed.

“In the kitchens, m'lord, every minute.” Ramsay was pleased by that: it was exactly what he'd asked for. He'd be even more impressed when he heard the talk that had gone round: the outright apalled reaction of the first person who'd deduced that was some sadistic ploy to test poor, starving Reek's strength of will around all that extravagant food he'd never get to taste, paraded in front of his face whilst he worked and didn't dare touch a thing for fear of Ramsay's wrath. He'd actually requested it less out of cruelty than needing to know that nobody would take it upon themselves to interfere with Reek, other than perhaps the odd kick or cuff round the ear for laziness, which would be nothing Theon hadn't earned himself.

Behind closed doors, Theon did not instantly assert his real position in the way he often would: by pouncing on Ramsay with kisses and wandering hands or cracking jokes. Being put to work had given his fantasy chance to roam around the power Ramsay held, and he'd still been hard at it when Ramsay had ridden in with an entire army at his beck and call as effortlessly as he would send a maid for wine or water. It'd sent arousal through Theon like a bolt from a bow. Likely Ramsay could be persuaded to keep up that beautiful air of cold command for long enough for it to follow through to its natural conclusion with his oh so willing and able servant... Theon dropped into in an upright kneel by the end of the bed: an easy indication that he was happy not to be released from those parts of his role just yet.

Ramsay turned an amused face at him that cooled rapidly. But of course, Theon should have known better than to wait for instruction – he was no new hand at this, after all – and he darted up and got to work, rectifying the slow start by quickly and decisively stripping Ramsay's jerkin off him and beginning to unlace his undershirt. He was met with Ramsay cupping his jaw and kissing him, gentle but deep: a reward for correcting himself. It was demanding and posessive, but without teeth and Theon could have spent a good while letting the rare softness of it slowly warm through his body if he weren't so adept at listening out for threats. He threw himself heavily backwards onto the floor, cluthcing his face and whimpering, and he landed so unguardedly that only part of that was acting. Ramsay looked enitrely perplexed until he heard the servant standing behind him. Before the weary look he turned on for the interruption was the breifest flash of gratitude. _Clever boy_. Ramsay whirled around.

“Yes?”

“Forgive me, my lord, but Lord Bolton said I was to fetch you immediately so that you could help welcome your guests to dinner”

“Oh for the love of – Why? What exactly does my lord father think I'm going to bring to the procedings? You'd think someone would be welcoming me after today, wouldn't you?”

The manservant looked apologetically blank in response and Ramsay looked as if to complain but simply huffed a dramatic sigh, slung his cloak over his shoulders in a way that made Theon momentarily and embarassingly weak at the knees and strode for the door.

“Reek. Come.” Like a dog. It wasn't quite 'heel' but it may as well have been and Theon followed just as automatically, lurching to his feet and immediately into his stumble.

Ramsay kept up for long enough that the man was sure he was following before dropping back, ostensibly to drag poor Reek along when he was limping too slowly. Theon had no idea what he planned for him – it was too dry an occasion to trot the pet freak out to serve at the table – until he diverted sideways into the doorway of the kennels. The heavy grind of keys and hinges and cold iron; the comparative warmth as Theon was dragged out of the drizzle of the open and into the haze of straw dust and warmth, to little happy whines of greeting and noses pressed through bars. Ramsay trailed his hand absently along to acknowledge each one and the hounds went scrabbling and yipping round their cages in joy at that simple touch, or perhaps at the mere knowledge that he was there... by the time Ramsay kicked open the door to Theon's cage, the last on the right, he'd never felt more like he belonged there in his life.

Ramsay kissed him quickly, a confident press of his lips before he pushed him gently through the gate and shut it. “I'll come back.” Theon nodded at him and dropped to his knees in the straw, and his eagerness sparked a smile that spread from one side of Ramsay's face to the other before he managed to school it into a more contolled smirk. “Sit. Stay.” He took a step backwards. “Good boy.”

 With that, Ramsay was gone. He didn't lock the cage: he didn't even need to pretend he had, so renowned was Reek for being too blindly terrified to accept kindness or attempt disobedience. He'd begged for Ramsay to lock him in once, but he refused to leave him over night or when Ben joined the hunts in case the kennels caught fire. Ever practical.

It seemed the kennels had been closed down for the evening: scraps in troughs told Theon the dogs had already been fed; there was no sign of Ben Bones or any of the other hands, so it was safe for Theon to scrabble down through the layers of damp straw to find the old cloak that was hidden a few inches deep, where the fresher, colder rushes gave way to finer, warmer hay and dry sawdust. He wasn't sure if the kennelmaster knew it was there but he suspected he did. He'd never said anything, but if anyone understood how fond Ramsay was of his pets, it was Ben, so there seemed to have been some silent agreement that it didn't matter if he noticed that Ramsay afforded Theon a few luxuries whilst maintaining the pretence of treating him with nothing but a firm hand.

Theon patted the straw down with his hands, flattening any sharp points before making a nest of the cloak to sit down in. He tried to predict how he might be called to spend any amount of time... sitting still, kneeling, or on his back were the most obvious options and he wheeled around on the cloth, trying to make sure he wasn't likely to be splintered or poked whatever Ramsay had planned for him, wherever he put him, however long he left him; he was imagining the positions he might end up in on that makeshift bed and trying to work out how to make it the least uncomfortable for himself when he became aware of breath the other side of the bars.

One of the setters was watching him, a deep and unsettling knowing in her eyes.

“Don't you give me that look. I'll not be reminding you of your pride when you come into season.”

She tilted her head to the side and yipped at him.

“And I'll thank you to cut that out. You're supposed to be asleep and I'm... not sure what I'm supposed to be doing. Waiting. Behaving myself.” He found himself unable to surpress a dirty grin; it was liberating to be open about what they were, what he was, even if his confidant was a dog. “And I'm being good.” He raised his eyebrows, perhaps on her behalf. “And if I'm not, I'm at least doing it quietly.”

She rumbled and finally barked - accusingly, he thought.

“Well alright, not always. But it's not easy to keep your mouth shut when Ramsay's set his heart on getting you to scream. And he likes it. Believe me, he's quick enough to gag me when he really doesn't want to be overheard...”

The bitch wandered to a corner, turned a circle and sank down into her straw bed in a manner that suggested she had grown weary of his enthusiasm for such things and might have rolled her eyes if she could. Theon was grateful not to have her gaze on him anymore... that enthusiasm had crept down his neck and he began to give due consideration to why he'd been left there.

It could be for show. Ramsay's hounds were notorious, after all: well bred, loyal, unquestioningly obedient killing machines, hunters and retreivers, and it wouldn't be unusual for new guests to the Dreadfort to become brave after a dinner's worth of wine and ask for the tour. Ever the doting master, Ramsay was only too happy to oblige, of course, and if he happened to 'forget' that one of the kennel's rear cells held his well bred, loyal, unquestioningly obedient battered freak of a hostage then all the better. The guests had only ever been amused or apalled – Theon had learned much about loyalty that way – and neither category failed to be suitably intimidated by the demented pride in Ramsay's eyes at what he'd done to him, the quick hint that oh yes, Reek knows a few tricks, but they're not for polite company, and wouldn't my lady like to come and see the hawks? So Theon would make sure at the slightest creak of the door that he was cowering as far into the corner as he could go, ready to fling himself into position on his knees with his forehead to the floor as soon as they were close enough to watch it happen at Ramsay's command, a whistle, the first lift of his voice.

Or Ramsay might have been anticipating dinner and entertainment to go on for longer than he liked to go without Theon's mouth on him, particularly having spent two nights away and apparently having engaged in all manner of the bloody and challenging things that tended to rile his appetites in between. That required no particular readiness so the fact he was near salivating at the thought was just gratuitous, but he had felt the excited tension radiating out of Ramsay in the few heady moments they'd scraped in his bedchamber and the thought that he was sitting at dinner, aroused, thinking about Theon waiting for him out in the kennels was as appealing as it was honestly likely.

Eventually, Theon settled on preparing himself for Ramsay to want to fuck him. It was a calculated gamble: if it was the wrong thing to do he'd incur a punishment for being a wanton whore, most probably, and those were usually the fun kind: perhaps a period of denial, but Ramsay was not generally a man to inconveniecnce himself in the execution of his penalties, so more likely a whipping he'd be only too happy to take. If he didn't prepare himself and Ramsay did want to make use of him, at the very least Ramsay would take what he wanted anyway, using only enough oil or spit to make it comfortable enough for himself... which would not be an enjoyable ride. Additionally, he'd catch trouble for causing a delay, for failing to preempt Ramsay's obvious needs, for making him work for what was rightfully his... and they'd be the angrier kinds of things, the ones that really hurt. That wasn't to say he didn't still enjoy being taught his lessons, but no. Far better to be prepared and show willing.

Decision made, Theon pulled his restrictively modified gloves off to better scramble for the jars amidst the various items buried deep under the bedding in his cage. He found more than he remembered there being: he recalled Ramsay taking those cuffs off him at last but hadn't realised they'd been here at the time; he'd wondered where that particular collar was for a while, and he had no recollection of the chains at all so perhaps they were left there from more legitimate use, or perhaps they weren't: it was hard to put his finger on specifics, and it didn't matter. Theon had found what he wanted.

He settled back comfortably in the cloak to prize the cork-lined lid out of the ceramic pot of tallow. Even coddled under the straw it was so cold it was rock solid, and he rubbed circles in it with his fingers to melt enough to spread, thinking about all the times Ramsay had fucked him here, with the dogs howling, with high nobility and great armies in the grand hall hearing the commotion with no idea what they were really bearing witness to. Once Ramsay had thrown him down into the straw on his back and ploughed into him, working Theon up with open mouthed, biting kisses and set the dogs to barking and whining up a storm before he'd told him who exactly would be struggling to hear their dinner conversation over the din: the envoy from Pyke. His sister's crews, sworn men for his father and uncles... come to share bread and salt with Lord Bolton, not to listen to the racket caused by his bastard son fucking their forgotten prince into the straw. Ramsay had slapped him across the face for inconveniencing their guests and Theon had come almost instantly.

Belatedly, with his fingers oiled, he realised he was still fully clothed and the lacings on his new kitchen clothes were hard to wrench open with his left hand but he soon managed to work the woolen breeches down to his knees.

Theon settled onto the cloak, against the cold back wall of the kennel and grasped his prick before his hands had a chance to cool down. It took a mere few strokes to pull himself to full erection and he had to remember not to get carried away, that he only intended to give himself enough motivation and comfort for what would need to be an uncomfortably quick encounter with his own fingers. He pushed his other hand down between his spread legs and stroked the grease he'd warmed around enough to press his finger inside. It was at least a few days since he'd been taken last and Theon fought not to flinch against his own touches; he was a little cold, it was all a little abrupt but other than that it was no hardship. Musing on the reasons Ramsay usually chose to leave him out there and how that had gone for him in the past had made him hungry not only for the physicality but feelings that being relegated to the kennels whilst his lord attended feasts stirred in him...

He turned over onto all fours, mostly because it was easier to keep himself covered without concentrating on it too much that way. Ramsay would be a lot less distressed by the idea of Theon having been caught working himself open like some desperate slut if it wasn't accompanied by the need to permanently silence a kennel hand who saw Reek's unmutilated body and might begin to ask questions. In fact, he'd probably be entertained no end by the idea of someone seeing him so willing and keen for his master's cock that he'd do most of the work himself.... a spark caught as Theon's greased fingers brushed that spot just so, and he decided to save that thought for later.

For his own pleasure he'd likely only have been inclined towards two fingers, practiced as he was at seeking out the places that brougt heat to the back of his neck and made his spine prickle, but Ramsay was thicker than all that and besides, Theon was using up the tallow on his fingers quickly, stroking it deeper into his body than was comfortable because this was not about his enjoyment: his job was simply to make it easy and convenient for Ramsay to have his way without let or hinderance, regardless of his own needs. The third finger was somehow not unwelcome, even though – having withdrawn the others to scoop up more grease – the new stretch was a surprise. It hurt, but Theon's pulse twitched his cock at the knowlege that it would be much worse if he didn't push himself now and Ramsay decided to surprise him be being predictable, and then again at the realisation of how well he'd been trained to anticipate his master's needs, how obedient he was being for him. He spent a few moments alternately holding and turning his fingers, flexing them to rub grease into every wall and relishing the wave of uncomfortable heat.

The drawback of hurrying to ensure he wasn't interrupted or not ready in time was that Theon was left to redress himself and wait, his arousal confused by the withdrawing of stimulation and becoming a twisted, feverish thing, rather than diminishing. He wanted Ramsay to come out and fuck him. He thought about the way he'd stride in, command him and take him without a moment's consideration of being refused by his well-trained and unresisting slave, and heat prickled out across his back. Theon's mind wandered to the other members of the keep who could come out and find him, how they might decide to abuse his meek compliance and discover him to be wet and open, already waiting to be rutted into the straw. They'd take him even though it probably meant their death, and would Ramsay get hold of them before the entire Dreadfort knew that Ramsay buggered that poor snivelling pet boy of his... and that he wanted it?

By the time the distinctive knock of Ramsay's boots crossed the cobbles from the hall, Theon had worked himself into a sweat with the effort not to put his hand back down his trousers. He sat back into the corner, ready to throw himself at Ramsay's will.

The door flew open to the howl of snow, closed again quickly, and Ramsay held up one hand in a signal Theon recognised as clearly as the dogs did. _No. No_ it's not hunt time, _no_ I've not come with food, _no_ I'm not here for you, go back to sleep. And for the most part the dogs sat back on their haunches or into their beds. But Ramsay staked straight to the last cage on the right and Theon knew that signal wasn't meant for him. Ramsay was definitely there for him. 

He spoke without looking at Theon, ducking through the cage's gate and already starting to pull at his clothes, a little breathless. "They think I'm in the privvy. Get the fuck on your knees."

Theon knelt up and forwards, stopping just short of opening his mouth in case it was a step too presumptuous and came across as greedy, but he was ready nonetheless.

Without pause, Ramsay dropped his cloak from his shoulders, opened his belt and brought out his cock, hard to the point the veins were bulging and it must have been torture for him to sit at dinner in that state. He looked at Theon for a moment – no eye contact – as if weighing his options, and then used his hands to start to turn him around, legs tangling in the fabric of the cloak, twisting it as Theon clambered to comply so that Ramsay wouldn't have to move to have him where he wanted him. His trousers were yanked down to his thighs, hands grabbed at Theon's backside and then a surprised, pleased little murmur when Ramsay found him slicked and ready for him - so that had been the right judgement call. Theon thrilled with the quick flutter of satisfaction. He'd left the jar just barely covered by the straw and reached for it, wordlessly handing it back to Ramsay who gave him an approving rub on the flank with his left hand whilst he slicked a handful of grease over himself with his right.

No sweet-talking tonight, then. None of Ramsay's typical poisoned honey or soft, quiet violence; no strict orders or curdling coercion; just the sharp press of his rigid prick against Theon's hole. Theon looked over his shoulder to guage his progress and Ramsay simply shoved his head back down and pushed inside.

Although he'd gathered this was not about to be a leisurely experience for him he was susprised when Ramsay didn't even give him the customary few seconds pause to adjust to being filled, just stared thrusting, pulling roughly at Theon's hips to find the angle and the pace that he fancied. There was no sense in fighting it: it tended to be obvious when Ramsay wanted him to struggle and this wasn't one of those games, so Theon tried to relax and Ramsay have control of both of their bodies. The pace was already quick, it would have been brutal had Theon not had the sense to prepare his body quite so thoroughly... he wondered briefly if Ramsay would have been this rough with him if he hadn't, and the conclusion that it was unlikely to have made any difference shot a quick thrill up his back.

Heat overtook him; Ramsay's pace was merciless and just breathing through it took all the concentration he could muster. Theon bent his elbows and lowered himself onto his forearms, offering Ramsay a better angle and the prettier dip of the small of his back. It was appreciated - if the grunt, the slap on the arse and the dig of nails into his hipbone was any indication – and Ramsay fucked him all the harder for his efforts.

Ramsay silenced the first hounds to alert to his fierce excitement with a clipped whistle and the raise of a hand, and the others took their cue. Then the kennels were quiet save for his heavy, laboured breathing and the crude slap of skin, and somehow that was just as exciting as the sordid stories he usually wove to sharpen the edge of Theon's pleasure. In fact, Ramsay didn't seem to care if he were enjoying it or not... it occurred to Theon that it didn't seem to be crucial that he suffered, simply that he were passive enough to be used how Ramsay wanted and that didn't necessarily mean he wasn't allowed to take care of his own pleasure. He didn't want to break Ramsay's concentration but he couldn't do it without permission, not when he'd been being so good...

“Am I.. may I … Hands? No hands?”

All he received in response was a huff, and whilst he was proud that Ramsay was clearly too undone to answer, he had honestly no idea if that noise was supposed to be assent or denial... so he erred on the side of caution and kept still. Ramsay gave an exasperated groan and slowed to a pause for just long enough to lean forward, grab Theon's elbow and yank it out from under him; to pull his grip down to Theon's hand and stretch his arm back towards their hips before releasing him roughly to resume his own handhold.

Theon did not need telling twice. Or telling at all, if Ramsay was too absorbed in fucking him to speak. He drew his hand back to spit in it but returned it quickly to wrap around his cock before Ramsay could think he was being disobeyed, if he was paying attention, if he was even aware Theon was there. He tipped his hips to angle Ramsay's thrusts into that spot that made his prick twitch and his head swim with sharp stabs of ecstacy, but Ramsay quickly put a hand on his arse and pressed him back to where he'd been before, taking that pleasure away to better his own.

After a couple of moments, Theon let his hand still to a wet grip, moved only by the impact of Ramsay's hips. There was no way he would catch up anyway: Ramsay's motions had escalated to a frantic sort of pounding, the unselfconscious, graceless pace a man takes from his own hand, his every breath coming out as a quiet grunt. Ramsay planted one foot in the straw to lift the angle of his hips, and the movement knocked out the lock Theon had on his shoulder: Theon pitched forwards and landed on his face and Ramsay kept on fucking him, sliding so that his fingertips buried in Theon's hair and pinning him still by the back of the neck.

Theon gave himself over to it entirely, letting Ramsay use his body to chase his own climax and enjoying the stimulation which seemed to be an incidental result. Certainly not something Ramsay was putting any thought into giving him... and that thought in itself magnified the flares of bliss Theon couldn't maintain a good enough hold on his cock to make the most of.

Ramsay had what he wanted, it was obvious from the tension building in his breathing. He gave a desperate whimper, his movements were suddenly unpredictable and Theon knew Ramsay was coming before he felt the twitching of his cock or the flood of heat that eased his last thrusts as he slowed to a stop.

Theon whined shamelessly, aching for just a little more stimulation but that was obviously all he was getting. He could feel Ramsay's cock softening from his body as Ramsay allowed himself a few seeconds of satisfied pause to compose himself before withdrawing quickly and without warning. He pulled his clothes straight as he stood, refastened his breeches and left Theon in the straw.

Theon didn't wait on ceremony to resume stroking his own prick, even as Ramsay swung out of the doors and locked them from the outside. He found he needed no further inspiration than how Ramsay had simply left him there whilst he had something better to do, to be fucked when it was convenient for him; to be used and put back like any piece of kennel equipment or equine tack... or perhaps more aptly like the horses themselves, ridden hard and put away wet. Theon pulled at his cock, panting. If he'd been a horse at least Ramsay would have handed him off to a stable boy for a rub down, not that he could very well do that with Theon without giving their game away, or he wouldn't have put it past him... _Here, I'm done with this, finish him off for me..._ no. No such luxury for Theon, left with nothing but his own hand and the searing degradation of Ramsay's come dribbling down his arse. 

He wanted something inside him again but he couldn't reach at that angle, it would mean moving from the careless awkwardness of how Ramsay had left him. He was so close that the discomfort no longer mattered, so he stayed put - face screwed up against the straw, mouth open, backside in the air – whilst his orgasm bore down on him like a mounted hunt at full speed. Theon rutted helpessly into his fist as it ripped through him, pulsing over his hand and dripping onto the worn wool of the cloak.

Shaking and suddenly completely unable to work out how he'd been holding himself up, Theon collapsed down onto the floor, and then came to regret it when he had to gather the effort to roll out of the wet patch on the cloak. He sat up, pulled the cloak from the straw and shook it before turning it around and wrapping the dry side around himself, even though he was still too hish with pleasure to feel the cold – Ramsay would be furious if he caught a chill. He basked in his satisfied aches, wondering what course Ramsay had skipped to come and sate his other appetites, and absently hoped it wasn't the pear tart he'd helped with the pastry for because the smell of that cooking had been incredible. 

He listened to the clamour as the feasting party burst from the hall and trickled away, shouting merrily over the weather, and didn't count on Ramsay coming to get him. There'd be no opportunity for the heir of the house to slip away unnoticed now, and depending on who he was with, a sudden turn of compassion driving him to go and collect his favourite victim from the kennels might be too risky, and Theon understood sense. Strangest of all it was still, in the sobriety following climax, thrilling to him to play his part so thoroughly that he'd be in the corner of the cage shivering when the servants came round at dawn.

Theon worked a hollow into the straw and found himself comfortable enough for his tiredness to catch up with him. He had worked so hard in the kitchens, his clothes were warm from the residual body heat and now he could hear the weather outside raging, his spot in the kennels seemed so comparatively cosy that it was easy for him to settle down, his hand just stretching between the bars to play with the ears of the bitch who'd so disapproved of him earlier, andclose his eyes.

***

Theon didn't recognise Ramsay's stride when it woke him an hour or two later: it was less even, somehow, less decisive than usual and it took him two attempts to get the key in the lock to turn it but it _was_ him, so Theon's scrabble to look less comfortable hadn't been necessary.

“Come on. Up to bed with you.” The reason for the wobbling became obvious as Ramsay stretched in to pull Theon out from his cage but misjudged his strength and fell heavily into the straw next to him: he smelled of wine and yeast and sugar. Theon planted a kiss on his temple.

“Has everyone gone to bed?”

Ramsay leaned in towards him, looking at Theon's mouth, lewd and hungry. A stripe of pink had appeared high on his cheeks and his eyes were heavy, his breath hot on Theon's face. “Does it matter? They know what I do to you.” A quick shudder made its way up Theon's back. Ramsay's voice was low and thick. “Why wouldn't I come and take you up to my rooms? Expect me to fuck you out here, like some sort of animal?'

 Theon grinned at him. “You're drunk.” And he was. Not the gentle loosening of a flagon too many, either, but the flagrant disarray caused by diverting the attention he didn't want to bestow on people who bored him into wine, and he didn't make any attempt to deny it.

“Uhuh.” One hand came up to grip Theon's jaw none too gently; the other snaked into the cloak and felt around until it rested on the inside of his leg. “Manderly was dull as ever, but his cupbearer was particularly pretty.” he kissed gently under Theon's ear. “All fair and delicate, but he was taller than you, and freckles, ugh.” He was slurring, his kisses wet and urgent. “Had to find some reason to keep bringing him over.'

“Oh.” Theon made no effort to keep the snotty disdain out of his voice; Ramsay wouldn't have mentioned it if he didn't want him to be jealous. “Is that why you're covered in wine?”

Ramsay's admission was a mumble. “...Might've smacked him on the arse.”

“And he threw it over you?!” The image was wonderful. Theon briefly checked that the splashes were in fact wine and not blood, but it appeared not to have descended into violence and he couldn't imagine the poor boy would be falling over himself to tell anyone, either.

“No, he just dropped it. Think he was a bit shocked.”

“And I wonder why! A man of your reputation leering at the lad... Poor fuck probably thought you were going to do something horrible to him.”

“I might, if he'd asked nicely.” He fumbled a hand up the inside of Theon's leg and buried his face into his neck, almost biting. “Thought about a tour via that staircase along the back of the armoury that nobody ever goes down. _You_ know the one.”

Of course Theon knew the one, he was more than familiar, and he knew Ramsay was mostly trying to get a reaction out of him... although his response to the idea of Ramsay seducing well dressed servants in halls full of bustiling importance whilst Theon waited out of the way to be used or not used at his whim was not the one either of them had been expecting, and Ramsay definitely noticed.

“Oh! Should I have brought the tour via the kennels, perhaps? I'm sure I could have found an excuse to behead him, and then we could share...”

Theon's face twisted into a grimace before he could fully put together what was being implied. Ramsay laughed at him.

“I did mean _before_ the beheading... although in truth plenty of the pretty bits weren't his face, so maybe you're onto something. That way we could share from different rooms!” And Ramsay collapsed back in a fit of uncharacteristic giggles, probably more at the disgust on Theon's face than at his own joke, but it was hopeless anyway. Theon shook his head and made to stand, pulling Ramsay back to sitting. He wasn't cooperating, the skinfull of wine evidently making the bed in the straw more appealing by the moment.

“Ugh, it's warm enough Thee, can't we stay here?”

“You can, if you like. I for one am going to get washed and naked and stretch out in your big soft bed.” He held a hand out anyway in case Ramsay needed assistance in standing, as he looked like he might, and ignored him grumbling. “And if you don't hurry up, I might just go looking for this serving boy of yours on the way back...”

Ramsay narrowed a glare at him even as he got his feet under himself. “You wouldn't.”

“I _won't_ , if you come and warm that bed yourself.” He stopped short of suggesting anything more adventurous, given the state of Ramsay, and simply tucked himself under his arm to help him stagger from the kennels. If anyone saw them, they'd gather Reek had found Ramsay somewhere fallen down drunk or, just as he'd suggested, that he'd finished eating and drinking and suddenly decided he had a use for a pliant body. That he'd gone to find his poor pet captive and continue the festivities in a fashion more suited to his tastes.

The image they might have gathered from that – of the Dreadfort's feared bastard skulking off into the night, frustrated and the worse for wine and with trouble in his eyes – was greatly at odds with what Ramsay summoned the last of his coherence to whisper into Theon's shoulder as they crossed the cold of the yard.

“Thee? There's hot water and food for you up in my rooms. I saved you some pear tart.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> In case anyone hadn't put it together yet, I have a bit of a thing about feeding Theon dessert. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for all the feedback we've been getting across the series. Please do keep it coming: let me know what you liked, what you'd like to see more of, as I'm still working on a few further installments.


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